Page 7 of His Perfect Princess

“I’ve brought ye here…” With one hand in his trouser pocket and that easy smile, he looked completely at ease. The total opposite of how I felt. “I have ye in mind for a…well, for a job opening. And while I think ye’d be an ideal candidate, I need to give ye an…interview. An audition, if ye will.”

Completely confused now, I raised my eyes to his. “An interview, sir?” I was very good at my current role, Papa always said. Had he recommended me to Prin—to Rickard? What position could he possibly mean to interview me for, here in his rooms?

“First, I need to see ye curtsey.”

Curtsey? That seemed easy enough.

But…the way he was eyeing me—especially my breasts—made my chest tight. My attire was perfectly respectable—serviceable, even—but he was looking at me as if he was already imagining it off me. I grew warmer at the thought, my breathing shallower.

Could the Crown Prince of Faencairn possibly want to see me naked?

I hurried to curtsey.

He hummed. “Not bad. However…” He reached towards my perfectly respectable day blouse. “I think I need to see it again without this…”

His fingers working impossibly fast, he flicked open the buttons of my blouse, tugging it toward my shoulders and exposing my chemise and corset.

I gasped, and was likely flushing as pink as the ribbons of my chemise, but I made no move to pull away.

He was, after all, a prince.

“Good lass,” he murmured, and I found my shoulders straightening at his praise.

He hummed as he dragged the back of his finger across my collarbone. “And this…”

I wasn’t certain what he did to my ribbons, but my chemise sagged, and now everything above my corset—including the way my breasts plumped above my corset—was exposed to his stare.

Was he really undressing me, so casually?

Part of my brain was yelling “Is he allowed to do that?” and the other, significantly louder part of my brain was yelling, “Yes please, sir, may I have another?”

When the back of his fingers brushed against my skin once more, I felt it all the way down to my core.

I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to tell me what to do. I swallowed, and met his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“Good lass.”

This time his smile seemed fond, and I preened a little at earning his approval. As a reward—at least, that’s how I interpreted it—he brushed his fingertip down my skin again, all the way from my throat to the place where the corset pushed my breasts up and out.

I managed to hold in a moan, but just barely. Should I let him know how aroused I was? A proper lady wouldn’t do such a thing…would she?

“Next, wee Clarissa, I need to see how ye look in a particular position, to see if ye’re a good candidate for this job.” His voice had gone all seductively low again. “Do ye think ye can do that for me?”

Mutely, I nodded, trying to squeeze my thighs together to bring some relief to my bits.

Oh Heavens, why did his commanding voice make me feel like this? Like I was the most special girl—lass in the world?

I think I was in love.

He leaned forward, and whispered, “Ye’ve made yer prince verra happy. Ye should be proud.”

My heart leapt into my throat, and I nodded again, this time in excitement.

“Now, on yer knees, lass.”

I didn’t even think to question his command. I just dropped to my knees, resting my rear end against the heels of my delicate boots.

“Nay, no’ like that,” he snapped. “Upright.”

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